


Scent of leather

by DracoIgnis, Dragon_and_Direwolf



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Begging, Bikers, Dirty Talk, F/M, Flirting, Masturbation, One Night Stands, Public Sex, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:26:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26917345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DracoIgnis/pseuds/DracoIgnis, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragon_and_Direwolf/pseuds/Dragon_and_Direwolf
Summary: Jon and Daenerys have been watching each other all night. When they meet up in a dark alley, they let go of all their inhibitions.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen
Comments: 39
Kudos: 366





	Scent of leather

It is dark. It is cold. It is past midnight. Jon zips his leather jacket and lights a cigarette for warmth. The wind howls down the street. He can hear it rattling the streetlamps, whistling through the car doors. But he can’t feel it in the alley. He huddles closer to the wall. He blows smoke toward the starry sky. He can taste himself in it: alcohol, and ashes, and after-mints.

A woman is watching him. He sees her out of the corners of his eyes. He doesn’t acknowledge her - he just waits. She moves slowly. Her body is lit up by the pale light from the passing cars: leather boots, thick thighs, tight jeans, bared midriff, open jacket, plump lips, cheeky eyes. Her hair is silver and straight. He imagines wrapping the locks around his hands and pulling her head back as he fucks her from behind.

She stops where the shadows grow stark. She rummages through her pockets. She withdraws a cigarette. “Have you got a lighter?” she asks.

Jon flips his Zippo and holds out the flame.

The woman walks closer, leans in, lights her smoke. She fills her lungs. She exhales. She peers at him, lips parted, shoulders rolled back, a smudge of eyeliner dirtying her lids when she blinks. “Thanks.”

“You’ve been watching me,” Jon says.

“Have I?” she asks. She has another drag of her cigarette. She peers at him from between her lashes. She has a nose ring. It is golden. Jon can’t decide if he likes it or not. When she blows smoke out of her nostrils, it glimmers.

Jon licks his teeth. They taste of whisky. “All night,” he points out, “at the bar.”

“How would you know,” she replies, “unless you were watching me too?”

Jon snaps the lighter shut. “Don’t get clever with me.”

“Why, do you prefer stupid girls?”

“I never said that.”

She smirks. It is faint, just a pull of her lips, but Jon catches it. It makes him angry, and horny. She nods toward the back of the alley. “Is that yours?”

Jon turns to the Honda. The motorcycle is battered, but reliable. Just like his jacket; holes in the leather have been covered with patches. It’s not fancy. He prefers it that way. He flicks ashes off his smoke and shrugs. “Might be.”

“You’re not much of a talker.”

“Didn’t come to chat.”

“Did you come to fuck?”

Jon lets go of a harsh laugh. Before he can reply, the woman has reached over and cupped him through his jeans. He inhales sharply. He throbs in her palm. He doesn’t move away - instead, he looks into her eyes and slowly takes another drag of his cigarette. Smoke escapes his lips. It disappears into the night like a light mist. “Are you drunk?”

“Not used to girls coming on to you?” she teases. She grabs him more firmly. Her fingers seem to wrap around him through the denim. “I’m Daenerys.”

“Right,” Jon says. His breath is stuck in his throat. He forces his voice to be casual. “I’m Jon.”

Daenerys smiles. Her hand starts stroking him - firmly, warmly. He can taste her in the air; deodorant and perfume, rum and coke, sweat and sweetness. She steps closer. She moves quicker. The jeans grow tight around his cock. “Nice to meet you, Jon,” she whispers.

Jon throws his smoke aside, grabs Daenerys by the waist, and slams her around to the wall. When he kisses her, she gasps to his lips. He enters her mouth. He swallows her sounds. His body traps her to the brick. Images flicker through his head:

Daenerys, at the bar, ordering drinks, her eyes on his, her hand brushing his knuckles, her lips smiling: _sorry._ And:

Daenerys, on the dancefloor, rock music pumping, sweat trickling down her face, her body moving, her navel showing, her buttocks begging for a touch. And:

Daenerys leaving, her fingers beckoning him to follow, her eyes as teasing as the flash of her waist when she disappears into the darkness. And:

Daenerys, now, wriggling between him and the wall, her breathing heavy, one hand clinging onto her smoke, the other unzipping him, dipping in, grabbing him. The air is cool. Her palm is warm. When she strokes him, he becomes rock hard from her touch.

Jon jerks into her hold. His hands drag down her body. He feels the fullness of her breasts, the shape of her waist, the curve of her hips, the softness of her ass. He grabs and squeezes anything he can reach. His fingers are greedy, and his mouth is eager - kissing, licking, dragging down her chin, around her neck, up to her ear. He grunts: “How do you like it?” and she whispers:

“Hard,” and he asks:

“From behind?” and she leans in and bites his lobe as she breathes:

“Fuck me like you hate me,” and Jon feels his Adam apple jump in his throat. He grabs the smoke out of her hand. He leans his head back, gazes into her eyes and finishes the cigarette. Then, throwing the butt aside, he pushes his hand through her hair, twists her silver locks around his fingers, and drags her free of the wall.

“Come here,” he says, half asking, half demanding. She follows - stumbling, gasping, Jon leading her to his Honda. He throws her over the seat, holds her head back by her locks, bends her ass up into the air. He roughly pushes the denim down. The fabric struggles to free itself off her fleshy buttocks. She wears a skimpy thong. He drags the band back with his thumb and lets it snap back to her skin.

Daenerys gasps from the dull pain. She rolls her head back, her hands grabbing onto parts of the motorcycle. She tries to steady herself

\- but Jon doesn’t let her. He kicks her legs apart, presses his hard cock to her exposed behind, pushes his hand down her front, into the black fabric of her underwear, across her labia. Her cunt is wet, and warm. He sinks two fingers into her and shivers at her surprised moan.

“Oh fuck,” she whimpers. Her hair is messy in his hand. Her head is forced back further. She stretches her neck, eyes the sky above, dips her fingers into random bits of metal and leather. “You should’ve done this in the bar.”

“In front of everyone?”

“In the toilets, then. I don’t care.” Daenerys rocks down onto his fingers, encourages him to fuck her with them. When he does, she sighs in relief, arching her back as she pushes herself further down across the seat. “I just knew I wanted you to fuck me there and then.”

Images take over Jon’s brain again:

Daenerys at the bar, ordering drinks, her ass pressed to his groin, his hands on her hips as he fucks her, her body slammed to the counter. And:

Daenerys on the dancefloor, her body naked and tempting, his hands and lips free to roam every inch of her skin, her every move commanded by his desires. And:

Daenerys leaving, her fingers beckoning him to follow, her next destination one of his choosing - a street corner, a hotel, her car, his bed. And:

Daenerys, now, gasping as he slaps her ass and watches her buttocks turn pink. He likes the way they jiggle. He enjoys the way she moans when he spanks her hard, his fingers pinching the sensitive skin, marking her as his. She likes it, he can tell - from the way she rubs down onto his motorcycle, searching for something to touch her now his hand has left her cunt.

“You’re a dirty girl,” he growls.

“I just know what I like,” she protests faintly.

Jon gives his cock a few jerks. Precum and the sheen of her juices slicken his length. He watches her - wriggling, her buttocks bright red, her pink cunt just visible between her legs, her jeans hanging at her knees, her hair a mess around her shoulders - and he grabs a hold of her waist as he leans in over her. He holds her down with his weight. He guides his cock between her labia. They spread for him with ease. “Haven’t got a condom,” he says.

“I’m on the pill.”

Jon’s cock pushes further up, close to the entrance of her cunt. He pauses. She groans:

“I told you,” and she peers over her shoulder, excitement and frustration on her face, “fuck me like you _don’t care!”_

\- so Jon pushes inside of her, his thick cock forcing her cunt to accommodate him at once. He sinks all the way into her with a rough jerk. His balls slap to her skin. A moan is stuck in the depths of his throat. He rolls his head back and gasps.

Daenerys’ head falls forward as she whimpers: “Shit!” Her feet slip. She needs a moment.

Jon doesn’t give it to her; he grabs onto her ass, pulls himself out, and then leans onto her as he sinks back into her tight cunt. Her inners surround him, squeeze him, drag and push at him all at once. He gives her behind a slap. “Fuck, you feel _good.”_

Daenerys whines as a reply. Her legs are shivering, and her knees buckle in toward the motorcycle. The only thing holding her up is Jon, his weight pinning her tight to the seat, making it impossible for her to move an inch. She is trapped. She is fucked - she is right where she wants to be.

As Jon starts taking her at pace, roughly claiming her cunt, the sound of their bodies clapping together echoing in the otherwise empty alley, juices start running down her inner thighs. It sticks to her underwear. It drips to her jeans. She is going to smell of sex. He hopes someone will notice - her parents, her brothers, whoever she has in her life. He wonders if she has a boyfriend. The thought makes him feel hot.

As Daenerys’ whimpers become moans, Jon reaches in over her, grabs her hair again, and pulls her head back up. Unable to muffle them against her arms, her sounds become clear and loud. “Oh fuck,” she gasps, her cheeks reddening at her own noises. “Oh fuck, Jon, that’s _good.”_

Jon licks his teeth. The air is heavy with the scent of her. He rams into her, her buttocks flattening to his hips, and asks: “Do you want it harder?”

Daenerys’ lips pop in a soundless groan.

Jon raises his other hand and lands a slap on her ass. “Say it,” he demands. He can taste his own sweat on his lips. He is hard, and throbbing, and on edge. _“Beg for it.”_

Daenerys groans again. He can see her struggling to speak. Her fingers claw at his motorcycle. Her legs look like they’re about to give in. There’s a patch of wetness on the leather seat. Jon is not sure whether it’s juices or sweat.

Jon smacks her ass again and feels it tense against his palm. _“Beg,”_ he says through gritted teeth. He slams into her. He stays embedded in her heat, filling her, making her body take him.

Daenerys’ groans deepen, and her head rolls back in his hold on her hair. Drool has started escaping the sides of her lips. It glistens on her chin. “Please,” she finally says, her voice weak.

Jon spanks her other buttock. It’s red and warm against his hand. “Louder.”

“Oh _fuck,”_ Daenerys whines, her voice quivering as Jon fondles her sore behind. She licks her lips. She forces the words out in between her breaths: _“Please,_ Jon, fuck me harder. _Please!”_

Jon grunts with satisfaction. He leans in over her, slips his hand up past her buttock to the small of her back, and he holds her, harshly as he starts taking her with deep, heavy thrusts. She is soaked. He is hard. His balls are tightening from the feeling of her body surrounding him, giving itself to his needs. He slips his hand further - up under her shirt, around to her front, grabs at her breast. He pinches her nipple between his fingertips. It hardens at his touch.

Daenerys whines in surprise. “I’m _sensitive,”_ she informs him.

“Good,” Jon says, giving it a flick with his thumb.

Daenerys’ moans and finds herself pushing back into his cock, the feeling of being under his complete control getting to her head. “You’re a bad man,” she whispers with a certain satisfaction to her voice.

Jon slips his hand from her tit to her neck to her face. He wraps his palm around her plump lips, dips his fingers into her mouth, silences her with his hand. He leans in over her. He presses his lips to her ear. He whispers: “Good,” and rocks into her with such force that his Honda slightly tips.

Daenerys gasps in surprise around his fingers, but she has no choice but to roll forward and back into his hold as the motorcycle settles back on the ground. Her tongue wraps around his fingers. She tries to speak, but it comes out as a muffled noise:

“Phlease, _aghain!”_

Jon complies: he pulls out and hammers back into her, claiming her cunt, filling it with his cock. Again and again, he takes her body, rocking the motorcycle beneath them until he’s sure they’re about to tip over. But the buzz of pleasure in his head is too great to pay attention to anything. He just wants to fuck her, and to come.

Daenerys is the first to give in. As Jon rams into her, her body tightens, and as he pulls out, the length of his member stroking across her clit, it is all she can take. She comes, pushing into his hold, her knuckles turning white as she grabs around the metal of the bike to steady herself. Her eyes are rolled back. Her moans are silenced against Jon’s palm.

Jon barely notices - he is fucking her with such fury that he can barely breathe, barely focus. His eyes close. His balls tighten. As Daenerys’ body gives in, slumps to his bike, allows him to claim it, he comes. He is deep inside of her when he releases. He feels his cum fill her warm inners. His head feels empty. His muscles grow weak. His fingers pop from Daenerys’ mouth, and she gasps for air, collapsing across the seat.

Jon too feels like collapsing. He only just remains standing, his body drenched in sweat, his cock wet from Daenerys’ cunt. He wipes it off with his hand before tugging himself away. He is warm. The night is still cold. His breath escapes his lips like a mist.

“Shit,” Jon mumbles, taking a step back as he surveys her. She is partially undressed, roughened and done and red, sweaty and sticky, and barely able to stand as she pushes herself back up. If he wasn’t feeling so tired, he’d fuck her again for looking so messy. The way she eyes him as she pulls her thong and jeans back in place tells him that she’d let him too.

Daenerys takes in a shivering breath. Her makeup is now decorating her cheeks. She is pink, and she is trying not to smile. “That was nice,” she says. Her voice is out of breath. She glances at the wet spot on his bike and casually wipes it off with the sleeve of her shirt. “Thank you.”

Jon withdraws a smoke. He lights it. He has a drag whilst watching her fiddle with her jeans. They were tight before. Now, marked by her juices and perspiration, they seem to cling even closer to her skin. “Do you come here often?” he asks.

“In the alley?” Daenerys teases. She smirks at him.

Jon looks away. “In the bar,” he says. He eyes the sky. He tries not to look embarrassed. He feels his cheeks grow hot.

Daenerys reaches over. She pats his cheek. When he looks at her, she smiles. “Every Saturday,” she says.

“Every Saturday,” Jon mumbles.

Daenerys flicks her hair back over her shoulders. She wipes a bit of eyeliner off in her hand. Then, she gives him a nod. “Every Saturday,” she repeats. “Will I see you around?”

“Maybe,” Jon replies.

“Maybe,” she repeats. But he can tell in her eyes - she knows he means: _I’ll be there._ As she passes him by, she snatches the smoke from his lips and winks. “I’ll see you then, _maybe.”_ And like that she’s gone - out of the alley, down the street, into the darkness of the city.

Jon leans back against the wall. He wipes the sweat off his brow. He lights another smoke. He glances at his Honda. He wonders if he’ll be able to smell her on the seat. His cock stirs. He sighs and reaches into his jeans as he closes his eyes and lets the images take over his brain once more:

Daenerys, naked, on his bike, wet and willing and trapped with his cock deep inside of her. And:

Daenerys, against the wall of the alley, her ass fucked so hard she can still feel him the next day. And:

Daenerys, her hand in his jeans, jerking him, leading him to release.

_“Fuck.”_ Jon bites so hard down around his smoke that it almost snaps in two. He’s come again. His cock is limp, and his palm is wet with his cum. He sighs and huddles close to the wall as he zips himself back up.

_Saturday,_ he thinks, watching the sky. He’ll definitely be there.

**Author's Note:**

> This is one we've been sitting on for a while that I've been eager to share - there's something nice about writing a dirty encounter in the night! Leather, bikes.. what can go wrong? Hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> Tomorrow will be the 2nd chapter of the Instagram story 'Perfectly Imperfect' - can't wait to share the end with all of you :) Thanks for your comments and support so far this October!


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